Memorial Jewellery:
A Guide to Carrying Memory Close

What is memorial jewellery?

Memorial jewellery is jewellery made or chosen to honour a person, an animal or a relationship that matters. It is also known by other names - mourning jewellery, remembrance jewellery, keepsake jewellery are some examples.

These terms overlap, although not every keepsake is connected to a death. A piece may be chosen while someone is still living, passed between generations, or made to remember a place or significant experience.

What makes it meaningful is not necessarily how it looks, but the connection it holds. Obviously however, if its something we do wear, we often find ourselves wanting for its appearance to represent that loss too.

A memorial piece might contain something physically connected to the person being remembered. It might carry their handwriting, use a stone from an inherited ring, or draw on a shared memory. It may look recognisably like mourning jewellery, or appear to be an ordinary piece whose deeper meaning remains private.

Within A Sacred Mourning, I use the language of mourning and remembrance because I think there is value in acknowledging loss directly. Mourning does not need to look a particular way, and it does not end according to a timetable. It can be an expression of love as much as an expression of sorrow. It's an entirely personal expression, and it's really important to me that the process of finding that expression is done together.

A brief history of mourning jewellery

Mourning jewellery is often associated with the Victorian era, but the practice began much earlier. In the European tradition, commemorative rings were being left to mourners through wills centuries before Queen Victoria. Names, dates and inscriptions allowed a person’s memory to be carried on the body, rather than held only on a monument or a page. Victoria and Albert Museum: Mourning Jewellery

During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, mourning jewellery took many forms, including rings, brooches, bracelets and lockets. Black enamel and jet were often used, while hair might be woven or enclosed within a piece, offering an intimate physical connection to the person being remembered.

Hairwork was also exchanged between living people as a token of affection. These traditions were present in colonial Australia as well as overseas. Powerhouse: Two mourning bracelets

Queen Victoria’s prolonged mourning after Prince Albert’s death made formal mourning dress and jewellery particularly visible, but she inherited a tradition rather than inventing one. Australian Museum: Mourning in the Victorian era

Why did mourning jewellery become less familiar?

Mourning jewellery didn't disappear at a single moment. Elaborate mourning customs were already changing in Britain and Australia during the late nineteenth century, as people began to question the cost and expectations surrounding formal mourning.

In the years that followed the First World War, other forms of mourning became more prominent. Public monuments, remembrance ceremonies and shared places of reflection offered important points of connection, particularly for families who could not visit a grave or bring their loved one home.

Alongside these public expressions, people still held photographs, letters, medals and personal objects close. Public remembrance did not replace private grief; the two existed alongside one another. National Army Museum: Honouring the fallen

Through the early twentieth century, the more formal Victorian language of mourning became less prominent. Mourning jewellery did not vanish, but many of the customs that once made it immediately recognisable gradually fell away. Later generations might inherit a locket, a ring or a woven piece of hair without also inheriting the language that explained what it was, or why it had been kept.

I wonder, too, about the part played by the way our society came to value work, productivity and progress. Industrialisation had already been reshaping daily life for generations, and over time the demands of work and the expectation to return to it sat alongside the changing rituals of mourning.

Grief is not efficient. It interrupts our ability to work, to concentrate, to participate in ordinary life. It can make us question the things we once valued, and the pace at which we are expected to live. In a society that places so much importance on productivity, I don’t think it is unreasonable to ask whether grief has become something we are expected to contain, manage and eventually move beyond.

I don’t believe we grieve any less deeply today. But I do think many of us have fewer familiar ways to show it, and can feel pressure to ‘get on with it’ while the loss remains anything but ordinary.

Why might a physical object matter?

When someone passes away the relationship does not simply disappear.

For those who haven't experienced significant grief through loss it can be challenging to comprehend the chemical changes that happen for us internally. Our "mental map" of the world no longer aligns with the physical one. In the physical world, someone is gone. In our mind, they are entirely still expected to be there. Just in the way that you can walk through your house in the middle of the night with no lights on and avoid the dining or coffee table - you know its there, you can't see it, but you know its there. Someone passes away, our brain still believe they are there. We can no longer hold their hand, call their name from another room, or reach for them in the same way. But the love that moved through those gestures does not necessarily become any smaller. That takes time, that's a shock t o our system, and it is part of why people in mourning are so all over the shop. But even when those maps begin to align again, our love for that person remains.

For me, in my own loss, my hands were especially lost.

They wanted to hold, gather, protect, repair. They wanted something to do in the face of something that could not be fixed. A mourning object cannot answer that absence, but it can offer a small act of continuation: touching a ring, opening a locket, or holding something connected to the person we miss.

This is part of what I mean when I speak about giving form to grief in my work.
It's not solving it.
It's not about making it smaller.
It's about giving some part of it somewhere to gather.

The term continuing bonds is used in bereavement research to describe the ways people maintain a connection with someone who has died. That might involve speaking their name, continuing a shared tradition, visiting a place or keeping an object close. These connections can bring comfort, sadness, or both, and their meaning differs between people. Research review: Continuing bonds following bereavement

Jewellery offers one possible form for that connection. It rests against the skin, warms with the body and is often touched without thinking. It can be seen by other people while remaining deeply private in its meaning.

A ring may be something your thumb finds during a difficult conversation. A pendant may sit beneath your clothes. A locket may be opened on a birthday, or on an entirely ordinary afternoon when the absence feels particularly close.

Sometimes a piece also gives grief a quiet place in a world that expects us to keep going. We still have work to do, appointments to attend and questions to answer. Wearing something meaningful can allow us to carry that relationship through those ordinary demands without constantly having to explain it.

None of this is a promise of healing - jewellery cannot undo a death, and it does not need to prove itself by making someone "feel better". Its value can simply be in the gesture it allows.
And if jewellery is not the right way for you to remember, that's entirely valid - love isn't measured by an object, or by whether you choose to have one at all.

What forms can memorial jewellery take?

There's quite literally no form that mourning jewellery "needs" to follow.
it's an entirely personal expression. For some, they want its meaning to be visible, while others want something that can move quietly through daily life.

Rings and signets

A ring can carry a name, an engraving, a symbol, a gemstone or a small enclosed space. It may be newly made, or incorporate something from an existing piece. Because it lives on the hand, it can become part of the gestures of everyday life. Something seen often, and touched almost without noticing.

Pendants and lockets

A pendant can be worn openly or kept beneath clothing. A locket may hold a photograph, hair, a written fragment or another small keepsake, depending on its construction. For some people, the ability to open a piece is important. For others, knowing that something is enclosed and protected is enough.

Reliquaries

Traditionally, a reliquary is a vessel for a relic. In memorial jewellery, I use the term for a piece made to hold a small, personally significant material: ashes, hair, fur, fabric or another trace of a relationship.

Some keep their contents hidden. Others use glass or another transparent material so that what is held can remain visible. Whether a compartment can be opened again depends on the design. This is worth discussing before a piece is made, particularly if being able to remove or change its contents matters to you.

Earrings and smaller keepsakes

Remembrance does not have to take the form of a ring or pendant.

Earrings, charms and other small pieces can also hold a symbol, material or story. They might be worn every day, kept for particular occasions, or held rather than worn. An object does not become less meaningful because it spends some of its life in a drawer or beside a photograph. The way you live with it belongs to you.

Does memorial jewellery need to contain ashes or hair?

No. A physical inclusion is a possibility, not a requirement, and again - it's entirely personal.

A piece might honour someone through their handwriting, favourite colour, a flower, an animal, a place or a detail from a shared story. It might use an inherited stone, preserve an existing piece, or take a form that feels right without needing to explain itself. Some people don't have the opportunity to have ashes, or hair, or anything at all. Other's do and would rather not have it worn. Neither approach is more authentic.

The value of a memorial piece is also not necessarily the value of its metal or stones.

An inexpensive ring worn for decades can hold more meaning than something rare or costly. Sometimes the connection lies in the fact that an object was chosen, given, held or worn by someone we love. There is no need to replace something meaningful simply because it was not originally made as memorial jewellery.

What can be included in a memorial piece?

Depending on the design, it may be possible to include:

• A small amount of ashes

• Hair or fur

• A thread or fragment of fabric

• Dried flowers or a small amount of soil

• A fragment of handwriting or paper

• Another small material connected to the person, animal or place being remembered

Not every material will be suitable for every piece. Its size, condition and behaviour during making need to be considered.

Hair, for example, can look different once enclosed in a clear material. Very fine, light, white or grey hair may become more subtle than expected. Different ashes, fabrics and flowers will also give different results.

These are personal materials, not standardised ingredients.

In some designs, materials from more than one person or animal can be held together. They should still be packaged and labelled separately so that each can be identified and handled carefully. If a material cannot safely be included in the way you first imagined, there may be another way to honour it. That conversation is part of the work.

What are memorial gemstones?

The term memorial gemstone is used for different processes, so it is worth asking a maker exactly what a stone is made from, what it contains and how it should be cared for.

In my practice, I create memorial stones using a clear, conservation-grade two-part epoxy used in museum, glass and ceramic restoration. Ashes, hair, fur or another suitable inclusion are carefully suspended within the material, and the finished stone can be incorporated into a ring, pendant, reliquary or other piece.

These are created memorial stones. They are not natural gemstones or diamonds grown from remains. The personal material remains physically present within the stone itself. Depending on what is included, it may be clearly visible or more quietly held within the finished piece.

I chose this process because I feel it is important to be clear about what is being held, and how it has been made. When someone entrusts me with something as precious as ashes or hair, I want them to understand that the material itself is included in their piece.

Cremation diamonds offer a different kind of remembrance. They are laboratory-grown diamonds, and some makers use carbon extracted from ashes or hair in their creation. Depending on the material and the maker’s process, carbon from another source may also be needed. The ashes themselves are not simply compressed whole into a diamond, and the finished stone does not contain the remains in the same visible, recognisable form.

For some people, the idea of transforming a material into a diamond will hold its own deep meaning, and I would never want to diminish that. What matters to me is that people are given a clear understanding of the process so they can choose what feels right for them.

For my own work, there is something meaningful in allowing the material to remain as it is. It does not need to become something unrecognisable in order to be valued. It can be held within a form chosen with care, remaining part of the object and the story it carries.

The stone’s care requirements reflect the material it is made from. Although it has a jewel-like appearance, a created memorial stone does not have the same hardness or durability as a mineral gemstone. I provide care guidance so that each piece can be worn and kept with understanding.

You can read more about my process on the Memorial Gemstones page.

Choosing a piece that feels right

You do not need to arrive with a finished design.

A name, a memory, a material, or even a feeling can be enough to begin. Sometimes the conversation is less about what an object should look like and more about what you want to be able to do with it.

A few questions can help:

• How would you like to wear or keep it? Everyday wear, occasional wear and private ritual may call for different materials and construction.

• Would you like its meaning to be visible or private? A piece can invite conversation, or hold something that you do not need to explain.

• Is there a material or story you want to include? This may be a physical keepsake, an inherited element or something expressed through symbolism.

• Should the contents be visible, hidden or accessible? These are different design choices, with different practical considerations.

• Are there beliefs or traditions you would like honoured? Faith, spirituality, culture and personal symbolism can all inform a piece. So can a completely secular understanding of remembrance.

It is also reasonable to ask about cost, timeframe, materials, care and what happens if a piece needs attention later.

Entrusting someone with precious materials

Sending ashes, hair, fur or another personal belonging into someone else’s care can feel vulnerable. These may be among the few physical things you have left, and you are entitled to understand what will happen to them.

Before choosing a maker, I would take the time to ask:

• How much material is needed?

• How will it be kept separate from other commissions?

• Will unused material be returned?

• Will the inclusion remain visible or accessible?

• What happens if the material is unsuitable for the intended design?

• How will names, stories and personal details be kept private?

Within my practice packages are labelled and materials are handled separately. I use only what is needed for the piece, and unused ashes are returned with care. For hair, fur, fabric and other small inclusions, we discuss the return of unused material before the work begins.

The stories shared with me are also entrusted materials, in their own way. Names, personal details and the circumstances behind a piece are kept confidential unless you give clear permission for them to be shared.

Only a small amount of ash is generally needed. Please wait for instructions specific to your piece before sending anything, and do not send all of the ashes you have.

Further practical information is available in the frequently asked questions.

When is the right time?

There is no "right" time other than what feels right for you.
Some people know very quickly that they want something to carry while others can wait months or years. For some who have walked into my studio, unaware of the practice of mourning jewellery, they didn't realise they could even have a piece to hold memory until that moment.

The point is, you are allowed to take your time.
And, You are allowed to change your mind.

A piece cannot hold the whole of a person.
What it can hold is something chosen: a name, a material, a symbol, a story. A small point of return.
And sometimes that is enough for an object to do.

If you choose to explore a piece, you do not need to have the design, the words or the answers worked out. A conversation can begin with whatever you have.

The aim is not to make grief disappear, but to give a little of its weight somewhere to rest.